


Damage Control

by Angelise (angelise7)



Series: Best Buds [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oh SHIT! You did what?!?!, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine comes home to face the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damage Control

**Author's Note:**

> 1st week of August 2008 Blaine is 19 years old. Trent is 18.

Blaine threw his truck into park and stared down the street at the front door of Trent’s house. Beside him on the seat was the newest issue of the magazine, ‘Freshman,’ the issue that just happened to feature photos of the hottest gay pitcher to ever set foot on the mound of a collegiate baseball stadium.

He looked down at the glossy cover. Thankfully his ugly mug wasn’t the one staring back at him. That privilege had gone to some football jock from UCLA with pecs the size of melons. His pictures were the secondary layout, further back in the magazine.

“Not far enough back, if you ask me.”

He wiped the sweat from his face and chuckled half-heartedly. The temp outside had to be in the high nineties. Add to that a matching percentage of humidity, and he could honestly say he was sitting in the hot seat, both literally and figuratively. Not that it mattered. The damage had been done, and he was definitely in deep shit.

“Trent is so gonna to kill me,” he mumbled.

A welcome summer breeze slipped through the open windows of his truck, and he watched as the pages of the magazine fluttered open. Ironically the breeze faded just as the table of contents page came into view, leaving him staring down at a very familiar set of blue eyes.

Without even trying, the memory of those three days came back to haunt him. The embarrassment of having his physique critically eyeballed not only by the photographer and his assistant but also by Nathan Chandler, the man in charge of the entire shoot. They had prodded and fondled, caressed and squeezed every extremity, every muscle, every inch of anatomy which belonged exclusively to his boyfriend.

Good thing Trent wasn’t there to see it. Fists would’ve have been flying if he had.

Thoughts of his boyfriend had been his primary focus during the entire photo session, reminding him over and over of the reason he was submitting to the indignity of being photographed semi-nude. When the limp-wrist assistant intentionally fumbled with the fit of his jockstrap, thoughts of Trent’s heart-stopping kisses kept him motionless. When the sleeve of Nathan’s polo shirt somehow got caught on one of his nipple piercings, thoughts of Trent’s rib-crushing hugs held him silent. When Terrence, the photographer, jokingly tossed a lens cover at bare thighs trembling from squatting too long over the pitcher’s mound, the image of Trent’s smiling face had stopped him from throwing a fast ball that would’ve killed upon impact.

He slapped the magazine shut, then shoved it off the seat. It landed on the duffle bag filled with his baseball gear . . . the bag that had been cheerfully given to him when he joined the team and thrown angrily at him when he left.

Leaning his head back, he squeezed his eyes shut and silently cursed. The curses halted the tears and that was what mattered. He had to first face Trent and then his parents. Had to hang tough, take whatever punishment came his way. More importantly, he had to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t get his ass beaten to a pulp by his boyfriend.

“You were worth it,” he whispered.

For some reason the words didn’t sound as absolute as they had when he’d first uttered them to himself. Would Trent understand? Would his parents? Would they understand Trent’s happiness was more important than a fucking baseball scholarship?

Shifting to a more comfortable position caused the folded papers in his shirt pocket to rustle. Talk about surprised as hell . . . he had been absolutely blown away by the recent turn of events. 

It has been exactly one week after the magazine hit the newsstands that his journey at the University of Alabaman had come to an end. Not only had he lost his scholarship but he had also been politely encouraged to continue his education elsewhere. 

It hadn’t taken him long to pack his belongings and load his truck but the thought of facing Trent had kept him wandering around the campus. Finally he ended up at the Student Union and was attempting to drown his sorrows in a glass of what passed for orange juice when a strange man took a seat next to him. It wasn't long before he discovered the man was Jason Shaw, number one scout for the LSU Fighting Tigers baseball team.

The meeting had lasted little more than an hour, and even now he couldn’t believe his good fortune. He now had a new scholarship and a new school. Not only that, but Jason had hinted that the university would have no problems if, for some reason, he was the subject of another photo shoot. And, if the background for the shoot included the colors purple and gold, and all proceeds were donated to charity, well, you couldn’t ask for better publicity than that.

Blaine yanked the papers out of his pocket and unfolded them. He stared at his signature on the last page. Would this fix things with his parents? Diffuse Trent’s anger once he discovered the extent of his stupidity?

God, he hoped so.

Stuffing the papers back in his pocket, he grabbed for the small, black velvet box tossed on the dash when he’d left Alabama. Inside was the commitment band he promised Trent last Christmas, bought with the remaining money he’d received for the photo shoot. Pimp money, Trent would label it, no doubt.

He heaved a major sigh and, after exiting his truck, stopped a moment to check his reflection in the side mirror. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to mention my current predicament while I’m down on my knees professing undying love.”

Carding fingers through his hair, he walked in the direction of the Anderson’s house but had only gotten a few feet when the front door opened and out stepped Trent and another guy.

“What the fuck is ‘he’ doing here?”

Coming to a complete and sudden stop, he considered throwing the ring box straight at Chris Bowman’s ass-ugly face but cancelled that thought when Trent pulled the dude into a tight hug. Suddenly his target wasn’t Mr. Roving Hands but his cheating boyfriend.

“Maybe that should be ‘ex’ boyfriend,” he muttered as he rubbed at his chest, hoping to pry free the brutal vice crushing his heart. The pain tripled when he got a second look at the action going on across the street.

“Fuck me stupid,” he growled.

Trent was kissing the bastard. Okay, so the kiss was on the cheek but shit, that wasn’t the issue.

Trent was KISSING another guy!

Turning on his heel, he climbed back into his truck and peeled rubber. He forced himself not to look in the rearview mirror. No way in hell did he want a last look; not at that. It was bad enough the image of Trent kissing Chris was forever seared on his gray matter. No use adding insult to injury.

“Damn it, Trent, like I don’t have enough on my plate already.”

To avoid early detection he parked his Dodge Dakota in the driveway built specifically for Dan’s section of the house. He needed some time to think, and the longer he kept out of sight of his family, the better.

Grabbing the bottle of water purchased at the last gas station, he hauled butt for his second favorite thinking spot. The ancient oak at his grandfather’s place would have been his first choice, but it was haying season, and the pasture would be a hot spot of activity this time of the year.

It took him less than sixty seconds to cover the distance between the driveway and the treehouse. Scrambling up the wooden ladder, he collected one of the old lawn chairs they’d picked up at the local Goodwill store and took a seat in the corner furthest from the doorway. It was the perfect spot in that it not only hid him from curious eyes but also provided him with a view of the back porch of his house.

He dug the ring box out of his front jean pocket and popped open the cover. He stared at the intricately engraved gold band for a good ten minutes.

“I could have gone with silver,” he reminded himself, “saved a major wad of cash but . . .” In the end he’d decided to go all out. The elegant band was not only classic in its design but was an ideal match to the gold nipple rings he’d given Trent last Christmas. Nothing but the best for his guy.

Snapping the lid shut he allowed the box to fall from his hand to the floor below. “My guy, yeah, right.” He tipped his head back in an attempt to stall the tears that threatened to slip free.

The image of Trent kissing Chris Bowman rose up to torment him, and suddenly there was no stopping the tears. One by one they fell, joined by more that were laden with anxiety and exhaustion, both mental and physical.

Nights of endless tossing and turning soon caught up with him, and he was to the point of nodding off when a pair of hands tenderly cupped the sides of his face. Comforting caresses traveled down his throat, across his shoulders and along his arms. He murmured the name of his heart’s love and was rewarded with the softest of kisses. It wasn’t until he felt the tears being wiped from his face that he awoke fully and discovered the source of his sorrow kneeling in front of him.

A slow, easy smile was spreading across his boyfriend’s face by the time he forced his eyes open.

“Hey, Budman,” Trent softly called. “Want to tell me why you left a trail of skid marks on the asphalt in front of my house?”

His knees were pushed apart, allowing easy access to his body. Demanding hands soon had his tee shoved up and off, and he gazed somewhat bewildered at the fingers tugging and twisting the hoops that pierced his tits. It didn’t take long before the gentle torture became an aggressive investigation of his upper torso.

Cool air assaulted his nakedness despite the 96 degree heat surrounding him. Unfortunately the respite didn’t last near long enough, and he gasped when sweat-damp skin plastered itself to his chest.

“Not quite sure why you’re home during the middle of the week but God, if you don’t touch me soon, I’m gonna explode.”

Instinctively his body responded to the huskily-spoken request.

“Trent.”

Whispering his boyfriend’s name, he wrapped his arms around broad shoulders. Thoughts of betrayal faded into the background as he lost himself in the thick texture of Trent’s hair. He buried his hands in the sandy blond tangles, groaning with hunger when individual strands wrapped around his fingers.

“Damn, you feel good,” Trent murmured, insinuating himself even closer. “Hot, hard and all mine.”

It was the phrase, ‘all mine’ that dispersed the fog of lust descending upon him. “Am I?” he asked, pushing his boyfriend away with a little more force than necessary. “Tell me, Trent, am I? Am I the only one fucking that fine ass of yours? Or has it seen action from someone a little closer to home?”

He ignored the look of utter confusion and hurt clouding Trent’s gorgeous green eyes

“What the hell are you talking about?” his boyfriend inquired. “Someone closer to home? What the fuck does that mean?” Trent stumbled to his feet. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at him. “Did you get hit in the head during your last game? Had some brain cells knocked loose?”

Blaine followed suit and rose to his feet. “My brain is just fine,” he growled. Taking advantage of his taller stature, he attempted to tower over Trent. “Not sure I can say the same about yours.”

Trent threw his hands up in the air and cursed. “You jerkwad, would you stop with all the insinuations and tell me what the hell is wrong.”

Anger quickened his heartbeat, and he struggled for breath. “Why don’t *you* tell me what’s wrong. You’re the one who had his arms wrapped around that bastard, Chris Bowman.”

His boyfriend stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, which considering the life-altering decisions he’d recently made wasn’t too far off the mark.

“You saw that?” Trent asked. “Is that why you took off like a bat out of hell instead of walking over?” He started to shake his head but then stopped and took a closer look. “You’re jealous,” he stated. “God, I can’t believe it. Blaine Matthews is fucking jealous of Chris Bowman.”

He felt his hands clench into fists when his boyfriend started laughing. He’d already contemplated the thought of cracking Trent’s skull once before. One more smartass comment and that thought would be put into action. “Why the hell should I be jealous? Chris isn’t worth my time and obviously, you . . .”

Stepping forward his foot came in contact with the forgotten ring box. The small square took flight, hitting his boyfriend’s shin and causing him to glance down.

“What’s this?” Trent asked after collecting the box from the floor.

Unsuccessfully, he tried to snatch the gift from Trent’s hand. “Nothing that should concern you. Give it back.”

Trent danced out of reach. “I don’t think so.” He repeatedly tossed the box in the air. “What is it? A PA?” He teased him by quickly opening and closing the lid. “Is that it?”

Shifting the box from one hand to the other, Trent leered at him. “Or better yet, is it a cockring?” He rubbed his crotch and chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be cool? Matching nipple piercings, matching cockrings. Fucking hot, Budman. Absolutely fucking hot.”

Trent opened the box and pulled out the gold band. He examined it for a second or so before saying, “Hate to tell ya, pal, but I think you bought the wrong size. My dick is a whole lot bigger than . . . oh shit!” Reaching out an unsteady hand, Trent looked at him, then looked at the ring, then looked back at him again. “Is this . . . is this what I think it is?” 

Trent grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close. “Am I an asshole or what? God, Blaine, you remembered. It’s a commitment band, right? The one you promised me last year?”

Trent held out his left hand. “Put it on, Budman. Please.”

He took the ring but not the hand. “Tell me the truth about Chris and then maybe I’ll consider giving you this ring.”

Trent snapped his head back as if slapped. “Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’d cheat on you?”

Tired beyond belief and pushed to the very limit of his patience, he grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders and shook him. “Just tell me, okay? Tell me why you kissed that asshole?”

For a second Trent looked like he was going to resist the hotly voiced demand, but his heavy sigh of surrender indicated otherwise.

“Okay, whatever. Just let me go.”

Blaine released his hold. His heart lurched slightly when Trent turned and headed toward the doorway. He was about to call out a protest when his boyfriend stopped and leaned wearily against the framed opening. 

“If you must know, I was consoling the dude.”

“Didn’t look like consoling to me.”

Ignoring the sarcastic mumble, Trent continued. “As you well know, Chris hasn’t exactly been honest about being queer. He’s denied being one of us more times than I can count.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Seems he had a good reason.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Trent moved further into the doorway and glanced down at the ground. “It wasn’t until recently that I found out Chris was Austin’s boyfriend. They had been together since seventh grade but had kept their relationship secret from just about everyone.”

Blaine walked over to where his boyfriend stood. “I remember Austin. Sure as hell wouldn’t have paired him with Chris, of all people. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular with the gay crowd or anyone else for that matter. He was a first class jerk. You know that. I know that.” He clasped Trent on the shoulder. “What’s all this got to do with you kissing Chris?”

His boyfriend spared a moment to frown impatiently at him. “Chris loved Austin to the max, but was afraid he’d put the guy in danger if they ever came out. Guess you can identify with him on that one, huh?”

“Get on with it, Smartass,” he gruffly demanded. The memory of his beating, the threats Doug Hutchinson and his cohorts had made against Trent were not up for discussion, not now, not ever.

His boyfriend grunted with frustration when further comment was withheld. “Somehow, the truth of their relationship got out right before graduation, and Austin bore the brunt of all the teasing more so than Chris. Anyway, things turned nasty. There was a fight and Austin got hurt. Broke a couple of ribs.”

Wiping a hand over his face, Trent gazed out the doorway again. “Austin wasn’t in the best of health at the time and the broken ribs sure didn’t help things. He came down with the flu and well . . .”

Blaine knew what was coming next. He stepped closer to his boyfriend and, with a sigh of sadness, slid arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get home for the funeral.” Trent tipped back his head so that it rested on his shoulder and allowed him to see the tears caught on his lashes. 

“It was rough, Budman. I won’t lie to ya. And if you think it was hard for me, you have no idea the shit Chris was going through. Today was the first time we’ve talked since the funeral.” 

Sliding a hand up Trent’s chest, he palmed his left pec and allowed his boyfriend’s steady heartbeat to diffuse the last of his anger. “And?”

“Chris actually stopped by to thank me for all the times I visited Austin in the hospital and for coming to the funeral. We got to talking about Austin and well, I guess you can figure out the rest. Chris got emotional, needed a shoulder to cry on and since I’d been through something similar with you, I offered him mine.”

Trent twisted around without warning and hugged the daylights out of him. “Do you have any idea how scared I was the night those bastards worked you over? Seeing you there in that hospital bed, your face beat to a pulp, your shoulder swollen twice its normal size. Chris went through the same thing, had the same feelings. Only thing is he lost his guy. Lost him. God, if that had happened to . . .”

Blaine gasped when Trent claimed his lips with an all-consuming, suck every molecule of oxygen from your lungs, kiss.

“Don’t you ever . . . don’t you dare leave me like Austin left Chris,” Trent vehemently demanded. “I couldn’t . . . .” He took a step back and looked down at his clenched fists, “Ah, hell, Budman, just don’t, okay?”

Blaine sank to the floor with his boyfriend held firmly in his arms. He silently took Trent’s left hand and slipped the commitment band on his ring finger. “If God’s willing, I plan on hanging around with you for the next ninety years or so. You hear me, Trent? It’s me and you. That’s if you forgive me for being such a jealous prick.”

Trent took possession of his mouth again. “I love you, even when you’re being a jealous prick.”

He started working on ridding Trent of his remaining clothes. “I so want to fuck you right now. Say you want it, too. Say it, babe. Tell me your ass is mine and only mine.”

“My ass has always been yours,” Trent promised. He kicked his tennis shoes off and laughed when one went sailing out the nearest window opening. “Oops,” he giggled.

“Oops, indeed.” He wrestled with an incredibly stubborn zipper. “Damn it, Trent, hold still. Can’t get your jeans off with you moving all around.”

“Face to face,” Trent panted in his ear. “I want you to fuck me face to face.”

Blaine closed his eyes and prayed for control. His request fell on deaf ears. “Trent! Wait. Stop. Don’t . . .”

He nearly bit his tongue in two when the hottest mouth south of the Mason Dixon Line inhaled his dick. He clawed at Trent’s shoulders, unsure as to what exactly he wanted his boyfriend to do. The mental debate of sucking versus fucking came to an abrupt halt when the ladder rattled with the sound of the arrival of an unwelcome intruder.

“Blaine Anthony Matthews!

Fuck! It was his dad.

Pushing Trent behind him, he quickly zipped up his jeans and was nearly at the doorway when his dad stepped inside. The man looked madder than hell, and the reason for his anger became crystal clear when a certain magazine hit the floor in front of him.

“Somebody want to tell me why my one and only son is featured in a shit rag such as this?”

 

To be continued . . . .

**Author's Note:**

> First . . . thanks for reading!
> 
> Two . . . [You can follow me and my eclectic tastes on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Three . . . Yes, LSU (Louisiana State University) would indeed grab up an athlete that had done what Blaine did. It's all about sports at this university and if the student in trouble is an awesome athlete, coaches will, more often than not, look the other way.


End file.
